SAM
by pgunderstatement
Summary: Takes place during season six through the eyes of Sam's soul and what it was like in hell. WARNING: Dark and violent wincest in this story. Read at your own risk.


**S.A.M.**

**Sodomize and Mutilate**

It's cold. The temperature in this room never ceases to amaze me. The weirdest thing about hell is that it's not what anyone said it would be. You can have a way out of the torture if you want it; you just have to recognize the opportunity and seize it. Never look back. After all, forever only lasts forever, right? It's not like I'm going anywhere.

Still, this room amazes me. It's empty, long and narrow. Nothing but darkness stands in front of me, but I can see everything. It's like a light comes from nowhere. Maybe it's the walls giving the deep oceanic blue effect around me. Somehow, they could be glowing, lighting its path until I see… It can't be. There in front of me, appearing out of nowhere as if just drawn there, I see a door. As it opens, someone walks through.

The person's presence seems to erase the walls around with every step, liquefying them as if water washed it away like paint. A humid mist wrapped around me, cooling and warming my face all at the same time. Yet, it didn't matter to me; I was more interested in the person walking towards me, but the light blinded my vision. The only saving grace to my vision was my right arm covering my sight.

"Who's there?" I shouted out, growing impatient by the person's slow movement.

"Sam," a voice I hadn't heard in so long responded. All the sudden, a sense of long overdue peace fills my mind. Did I escape? Am I saved?

Until the light died down to slowly reveal my older brother's face, gazing that signature look of concern for me, I wasn't sure if it really was him. However, when I realize that Dean Winchester was standing right in front me, I embrace him with my arms. As short-lived as it is though, I notice that he's not hugging back. I pull myself away from him, staring into his eyes. There's something different about him.

"Dean?" I asked, hoping he could understand what I'm trying to ask without saying anything, but he doesn't.

A fist comes across my vision, and the next thing I see is the ground as a blood puddle forms just below my eyes from my nose. Placing both my hands on the ground, I try to force myself up, but Dean doesn't let me. I feel his foot stomp onto my back, and I'm back on the ground again. Once again, I try to bring myself back up, but this time, he doesn't even let me get far enough to even attempt it.

His knee nails into my back to keep me pinned. All the while, I keep wondering to myself why he's doing this. I never pictured this as my welcome home party. Something happened to him while I was gone. It has to be the only explanation for this behavior. As I try to plead for him to let me know why he's so angry, I feel his hands grab my wrists, binding them behind me as rope wraps around them. I feel the rope grow tighter until my wrists are completely bound, and I fear what's happening.

I look around me, trying to find something that I can fight back with, but my self-defense instincts are interrupted when I randomly find myself in a hotel room. Unlike so many times before, I only see one bed. When did we arrive at the hotel? Why is Dean still living from hotel-to-hotel when he promised me he would be with Lisa and Ben? Temporarily, these thoughts carry me away from the real problem, but I'm faced with what's going on again when I feel more rope tying my ankles together.

After that, I feel his knee lift up off my back as my shirt is pulled backward, against my throat, lifting me up to my feet. As I grunt through the fear gradually growing in my heart, I feel a forceful push from his hand on my back as I'm sent crash landing on the bed, face-down. To provide myself air, I face forward, pillow underneath my chin.

"Dean, stop! Please!" I scream, but he doesn't listen as he jumps onto my back. During this entire time, he has not made one sound yet. It's like he's on autopilot. Perhaps, he's possessed. Regardless, nothing's stopping him, not even my screams are breaking through to my brother.

I continue to plead until he grabs my hair, pulling my head up and slamming it back into the pillow. I learn quickly that he doesn't want any noises. I try my best to keep quiet, but soft whimpers make their way to the surface as streams of tears fall down my cheeks. My panic increases as I feel a hand go under me, just below my stomach where the button on my jeans is located. I hear it snap open as the zipper slides down, the motion vibrating through the part of the bed that's below my body.

He tugs my pants downward as I slowly feel the cold air hit my exposed ass, causing an uncontrollable shiver and a chill that travels up my spine. This entire time, I keep thinking this isn't my brother. He would never hurt me like this so why is it happening? Does he even know it's me?

Whether he does or not, it is happening. That is validated when I hear another zipper opening another pair of pants… his. The cold air becomes slightly warmer as I feel his pants touching my legs, just above where my ankles, where my pants are hanging. The walls down there are spread open as I dread what might come next… and it does. Though in reality, I know it's much smaller than this, it feels as if a baseball bat had been shoved inside. I can no longer hold my screams in.

"Fuck! Stop it!" I shriek as he continues to thrust back and forth inside me. At this point, I can't tell if the forward or backward motion hurts worse. Either way, he becomes annoyed with me again as he pulls my hair and shoves me back into the pillow just like before. Only this time, his hand keeps my face in the pillow so my screams are muffled.

I feel the pace quickening and becoming more and more violent. For cold air, it feels too warm and slick down there. It's not warm because of the tension though. I can now tell that it is warm because he tore something, and now, I'm bleeding profusely which ironically actually begins to help subsidize the pain. Not even this interrupts Dean though. The speed of his thrusts even seems inhuman now.

However, I feel the pace slowing down as he stops deep within me. For a minute, I almost assume he's given up due to my muffled pleads. Then, I feel multiple hot squirts fire inside like the speed of bullets from a machine gun, just softer obviously. Finally, he pulls out, and I let myself believe that it is over.

Yet, he has one final move. He pulls my hair to raise my head again as I feel a cold, metal blade insert the left side of my neck, being slit all the way to the right side quicker than the speed of light. Therefore, all I see is my blood spewing on the pillow below me. Unable to do anything else, I just feel the blood in my body slip and drip below as my head is still being pulled by my hair. Then darkness covers my sight.

As my sight regains though, I find myself in a dark room, slowly being lit up by fire all around me. Unlike regular fire, that moves around wildly without pattern, this fire seems to be attracted to me. My suspicions are confirmed as it latches onto my legs, travelling upward to burn all my skin away, but before it has the chance, it dies as if something large had blown the fire out.

A spotlight, the source of it unknown, reveals another me standing there. To his right, I see Adam. Both of them just stare at me with a satisfying grin. My memory recovers, and I remember everything: the demon blood, Lucifer, Michael, the opening pit. I'm in his cage. Lucifer. The other me is Lucifer, and the other one isn't Adam. It's Michael. Both had arranged the entire illusion. They were taking revenge, the first of many to come.

"Did you have fun, Sam?" Lucifer spoke.

"Because we're just getting started," Michael added.

"Well, at least you guys are agreeing on something," I couldn't help but joke. I might as well make a light situation if this is going to happen for eternity.

"A sense of humor," Michael spoke again.

"We'll have to change that," Lucifer nodded. "Sam, how would you like to see Daddy?"


End file.
